


Harry Potter and the Bowtruckle

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fred Lives, Secret Crush, Truth Serum, secret pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 00:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: At the annual Weasley Devil's Night Halloween Party, Harry finds himself dosed with truth serum. The only problem is that the witch he's been pining over for the past ten years happens to be there on the arm of Cormac Mclaggen. He's desperate to keep his distance, lest the truth comes spilling out.





	Harry Potter and the Bowtruckle

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [HalloweenHarmonyComp2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HalloweenHarmonyComp2019) collection. 

> In response to the prompt: At the annual WWW annual Devils Night Party, someone spikes the punch with a lesser potent Veritaserum. Harry realizes he's been dosed. He spends the night avoiding Hermione and her date, new boyfriend Cormac, for the rest of the evening, lest he spills the secret he's been holding onto since fourth year.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, who will for now remain unnamed, and to the admins of Harmony and Co for hosting this competition.
> 
> This piece was written for Harmony & Co’s Halloween Competition, Double Double, Toil, and Trouble. All canon characters, plots, dialogue, and situations from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.

“Wait,” Fred deadpanned, George glaring from directly over his shoulder. “Who  _ exactly _ are you supposed to be, mate?”

With a begrudging shrug, Harry looked down at his outfit. Sure, the Oxford was a bit more snug than it'd been a few years ago, the tie perhaps a little dull but it seemed bloody obvious enough to him. 

“I’m Harry Potter—”

“Yeah, but you’re meant to come in  _ costume _ to a costume party. Did you not read the invitation?” George’s face screwed up on one side. 

After draining the rest of his punch, Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying a costume for Halloween—I’m a grown adult. Besides, haven’t you seen all those shops with me in the window? All sorts of kids are going as me for Halloween, why wouldn’t I capitalize on my built-in scar and already purchased uniform?”

The twins blinked at him for several long moments before each levying a tired sigh and turning back for their party, which was now in full swing. 

Truthfully, Harry hadn’t really wanted to attend tonight; Halloween being such a sour night for him and all. But Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes threw London’s wildest Devil’s Night party around. The store was enchanted within an inch of its life, floating pumpkins overhead and swirling purple fog at their feet. The Midnight Thestrals were playing live later and the food spread put the Burrow Christmas to shame. 

Tickets had been sold out for weeks now; all proceeds going directly to charity. Small tented areas existed on the fringes of the store, with different sideshows available to collect a few more galleons here and there for the good cause du jour. The invitation this year had heralded the London Society for Magical Children and their need for supplies for the orphaned children following the war.

The war that had dragged on because of one, Harry Potter. The very one that Harry still carried heavy on his shoulders, as if every name on the memorial stone at Hogwarts was his fault. And sure, Teddy would never want for a thing in his life, but that didn’t mean that the many children of London would be so lucky. 

And so, for that reason, and many more, Harry was here. In costume. Sort of. 

As Harry stood, contemplating how best to be seen by as many people as possible and still make it home to fall asleep on his couch by ten,  _ she _ entered. 

Inhaling sharply, spit caught in the back of his throat and he coughed and sputtered over his empty glass. Gods, she was beautiful, even dressed as a— _ what in the name of Merlin was the witch dressed as? _

He didn’t know when it’d officially started—this obscene pining for his best friend—but it’d been years now. Far before the Yule Ball when he was  _ so _ close to just blurting it out and asking her as his date, but then Ron had gotten all pinch-faced and pissy about  _ them _ not having dates and throwing Hermione a bone by taking her…

So, it was his lot in life these past ten or so years, to watch the girl of his dreams flit through relationships that left her unfulfilled and broken-hearted. Ron had been the worst, it’d been nearly impossible to remain neutral in that whole sordid affair; but now three years later, things were finally back to normal. 

Hermione made her way through the crowd, stopping to wiggle her fingers and offer bright smiles to her friends and people she knew. On her arm, looking as though he’d just completed his photo session for most eligible bachelor in London was none other than Cormac McLaggen. The prick had finally worn her down enough to earn a few dates and while he could certainly understand Cormac's interest in the relationship, Hermione’s reasoning for being seen with the tosser was lost on Harry. The bloke was a prick. 

The crowd parted at just the right time and Hermione’s gaze landed on Harry; her grin widened as she waved excitedly and tugged Cormac in his direction. A volatile mix of excitement and dread swirled in his belly as he forced a smile on his face and filled his punch cup one more time. 

“Harry!” Hermione greeted him happily, winding his arms around his neck, and kissing him quickly on the cheek. “I didn’t know if you’d come! You’re harder to find these days than a sickle in the street.” 

Harry’s hands fell away from the curve of her hips as he gave a polite nod to Cormac and returned his attention to Hermione. “Right, well—” Harry shrugged, his mind blanking on something quippy and clever as Cormac fussed with his teal woolen coat. “Hermione, forgive me, but what on earth are you supposed to be?”

Her hair was all done up, her curls wild and piled up on the crown of her head and she had twigs sticking out from every direction, some twined into a halo around her forehead. Her dress was long and silky, the most enticing shade of chocolate he could remember seeing and there were vines with small green leaves attached to her dress and winding down her bare arms. 

Her laugh trilled through him as she gestured to herself. “I’m a bow truckle. Cormac is Newt Scamander! Is it not obvious?” Her features fell dejectedly. “I was hoping I wouldn’t look like a total fool—you know how I feel about these types of affairs. I never know what to wear…”

“No, no,” Harry assured her, studying the pinks of her cheek fading. “You’re perfect, Hermione.” His voice was low and serious, possibly  _ too _ low and  _ too _ serious and he gulped as he fidgeted in his spot. “And you don’t look completely ridiculous either, Cormac.” 

That garnered Cormac’s attention and he stared down at him with an arched brow and a smug, lopsided smirk. “Thanks, mate. What are you supposed to be?” 

“I’m Harry P—”

“ _ Harry Potter! _ You did not dress up as yourself!” A laugh chased Hermione’s words as her fingers wound around his tie, her knuckles bumping into his chest and making his breath hitch. “You have got to be the laziest wizard on the planet.”

“Wow…” Cormac blinked, his lip curling, voice flat. “Brilliant.” 

“Perks of being the Chosen One.” Harry’s lips folded into a tight line and he finished the rest of his punch as Cormac lifted his hand in greeting to someone near the door and dropped his lips to Hermione’s ear. 

“Can you excuse me, love? An associate just popped in and I better say hello.” 

Hermoine hummed in response, her eyes never leaving Harry as she waved her date off. Once he was safely out of earshot, Harry grumbled under his breath. “I really don’t know what it is you see in that guy.” 

“He’s not so bad.” She shrugged, her gaze following the tall blond through the crowd. “He asked and he’s nice. Sure he’s a little—”

“Poncey.” 

Another bright bubble of laughter flitted through the air and Hermione dropped his tie and nudged him with her shoulder. “You’ve never liked him. Your judgment is skewed.” 

“That’s true,” Harry agreed, draining the rest of his glass. 

“Hey, you two!” A barrage of ginger hair barreled into them, reeking of whisky and grinning widely. “Merlin, Mione,” Ron deadpanned, his spine straightening. “What on earth are you meant to be? A flower? You're a lovely flower, 'ermione!” 

With a groan, Hermione shrugged Ron’s thick arm off her shoulder and scowled. “I’m a bow truckle and you’re already drunk!” 

Ron spared a conspiratorial look over his shoulder, his eyes lidded and hazy. “ _ Shhh, it’s the punch.”  _ Spit sprayed from his lips as he spoke and Harry helped to right his friend, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh—” Hermione’s face screwed up. “Excuse me a moment, boys. Cormac’s waving me over. Harry, get him some water will you?” She paused a moment, eyeing Ron's denims and well-loved jersey. “What in the world are  _ you _ supposed to be, Ronald?”

“ _ Wha— _ I’m a Quidditch player!” 

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as Ron staggered and he shouldered the weight. 

“Whatever, Ronald. Sober up if you’re going to last the night!” Hermione gave a small sad smile to them both as she cut through the crowd and took her place next to McLaggen. 

Harry honestly tried not to stare so longingly at her, but he wondered how she was the only one who didn’t see it. 

“You ought tah tell ‘er, mate! You know s’not me who cares if you wanna shag ‘er.” Ron’s words were slurred as he reached for a passing tray of fizzing pink punch. 

With a small snort, Harry readjusted Ron’s arm over his shoulder and moved him towards a bench near the registers and deposited him safely there. “This party blows—”

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s that!?” From seemingly nowhere the twins popped up, their brows pulled low in a serious, stern glare. “We’ve barely even gotten started,” Fred crooned. 

George joined in, jaunting down the short steps to take a spot on the far side of Harry as he reached into his pocket for a bright purple flask. “Here, have some of the good stuff and then we’ll find you someone pretty to dance with.” 

“Yeah,” Fred tagged on, his fiery brows waggling as he grabbed the flask and tipped it precariously to his own lips. “The fun is just about to begin.” 

Harry’s gaze lingered back over to Hermione who was laughing brightly, still tucked under Cormac’s arm as they schmoozed with one of the other Ministry Elites.  _ Why the hell not? _

Shrugging, Harry took the offered flask and took a long pull, only pulling away as the effervescent bubbles tickled the back of his throat. “Merlin, what is that?” He coughed, slamming a fist into his chest as he bit it down.

“Ah, just a little—what’s the word, Freddie?” 

“Concoction, Georgie. Just a little  _ concoction _ of our own design. Loosens the tongue—”

“Frees the chains of the heart—”

“Brings secrets to the light—”

The twins were lost in their own special, nonsensical banter and as Hermione weaved her way back through the crowd, Cormac’s hand in hers, Harry blanched. “Fred and George Weasley, I swear to  _ fuck _ , you tell me right now what you just put in that flask.” 

In perfect synchronization, the twin's mouths curled into happy smiles. “ _ Truth serum _ .” 

_ “ _ Hullo, again!” Hermione beamed. 

Harry nearly jumped from his skin, skirting around the twins and hiding behind their shoulders as he felt the tingle of the drink fizzle in his belly. “Harry, are you okay?” 

Peeking over the twins joined shoulders, a small hiccup escaped him and he nodded quickly, eyes wide and round, glasses knocked askew. Truth serum seemed too dangerous to be combined with the close proximity of Hermione Granger. 

Hermoine’s scrutinous glare flitted around the group. Ron hiccuping and swaying on his bench, the twins cackling and Harry hiding behind their towering frames; she seemed wholly unimpressed. “What on earth is with everyone tonight? You’re all acting suspiciously.” 

“Harry— _ hiccup— _ ‘as somthin’ tah tell you, ‘ermione—” Ron slurred, dragging a pointed finger in Harry’s direction. 

Blanching, Harry shook his head quickly, ignoring the serious glare coming from Hermione. 

“Drink, Hermione?” George lifted the flask from his jacket pocket and held it proudly out to her, his mischievous grin bright in the dim light. 

With a knitted brow, Hermione reached for it only to jump back as Harry swatted it from George’s hand and it fell with a soft  _ thud _ to their feet. 

“Potter!” Cormac yelped, shaking off his loafers. “What gives? These are Italian!” 

“Yeah,  _ Potter—”  _ Fred crooned. “What gives? Why’d you do such a thing?”

Harry could feel the effects of the potion take hold on his tongue and before he could stop it, words were floating from his lips. “I don’t want Hermione to drink it.”

Hermione gasped and the twins stifled their laughter. “Why on earth not? It’s Halloween, Harry and I can handle my liquor better than most,” she said, jerking her thumb in Ron's direction. 

Words swirled and stilled in his mind as he tried to quickly formulate a thought that wasn’t a lie. “I don’t want you to drink it,” he repeated uselessly, watching as the fire danced in her dark eyes. 

Fixing each of them with a pointed stare, Hermione’s lips pulled into a tight out. “I don’t know what you’re all up to, but I  _ will _ figure it out. C’mon, Cormac.” With a soft growl, Hermione turned on her heel and stomped towards the back of the shop. 

When she was safely out of earshot, Harry let go of a long breath. “You guys are going to get me fucking killed, do you know that?” 

The twins broke out in loud guffaws, clutching at their stomachs. 

“I’m leaving,” Harry replied with a scowl. “Ron, do you need me to help you home?”

“Ah, ah, ah, Harry! Your night isn’t over just yet! You’d do anything to help a good cause, wouldn’t you?” Fred’s brows were raised high with mischief, his blue eyes gleaming with the promise of a scheme. 

Against his volition, Harry’s tongue and teeth worked together in tandem. “I guess so.” 

“You mean to say,” George continued loudly, egging him on. “That you, Harry Potter, would make a grand gesture here and now if it meant that the London Society for Magical Children would benefit in some way?”

Harry’s gaze narrowed. “Yes.” 

The twins shared a gleeful look and turned with wide arms to their party guests. “Witches and Wizards of London! As you well know—”

“ _ Because we told you _ —”

“Harry James Potter is in attendance this evening. Vanquisher of the Dark Lord—”

“Chosen one—”

“Youngest Seeker in Gryffindor history!”

“And London’s most eligible bachelor!” 

As the twins continued with their charade, Harry could feel the tips of ears burning hot as a fevered blush spread over his skin. 

“Mister Potter holds this cause true to his heart. As an orphan himself he has vowed to help bring an end to the suffering of Magical Children all across London in  _ whatever _ way he can—isn’t that right, Harry?” Fred turned to him then, the same wild look painted over his features. 

Clearing his throat, Harry let out a weak affirmation and the crowd simmered in healthy applause. 

“And so, without further adieu, we will be holding an auction for the pleasure of Mister Potter’s company for the rest of the evening! That’s right! Get your galleons ready ladies and gents! This is your chance to have Harry Potter on your arm for the next three hours!”

The blood drained from Harry’s face as he watched in horror as witches of all ages, and a few wizards, left their dates to inch towards the front of the store. Behind him, Ron broke out in fits of laughter, his head falling back as he clutched to his side. 

“Shall we start the bidding at—” George grinned. “Twenty Galleons?”

xXx

Four-hundred and fifty-seven galleons. 

That’s how much this little French tartlet had dug from her father's banknotes and thrust at the twins, all whilst hopping up and down and squealing as her breasts nearly toppled from her poorly planned costume. If Harry had to guess, she was a cat; although any resemblance past a painted nose and a pair of black ears ceased to exist. 

The witch was stunning; there was no way other way about it. She had long shiny black hair and a small round nose. She was fit too, filling out the small black dress with the obscenely low neckline in a way that would make most wizards forget their own name. But not Harry. Because the tartlet,  _ Colette, _ was decidedly not Hermione. 

She’d been following him around for the better part of an hour now, chittering on in a dangerous mix of French and English that made it all too easy for Harry to tune out. 

“Zould we ‘ave our palms read? I ‘ave only ‘ad it done once but the woman waz an awful cheat!” Colette pressed against him and no matter how pointedly he flattened himself against the glass, she simply found more space for her and her breasts to fit in. 

The truth pushed past his lips unbidden. “I don’t want to do that with you, Colette.” 

“There you are, Harry!” From seemingly nowhere, Hermione, not-so-gently, nudged the raven-haired witch to the side with a narrowed glare before turning her bright attention back to Harry. “I’ve been looking for you. Did you know the twins were going to do that?”

Colette whined, crossing her arms firmly under her bosom and lifting them proudly in the act. The little spoiled gesture caught Hermione’s glare and her lip curled up in a protective scowl. 

Harry felt the pressure of the truth on his tongue. “No. I didn’t know.” 

With a knowing tilt of her head, Hermione curled her fingers around his elbow and tugged him a few steps away. “You can just hang with Cormac and me if you’d rather,” she whispered, flattening her expression as her gaze again caught over his shoulder. 

Harry’s lips parted, and before a syllable could form, he mashed his lips together, begging the truth to rearrange itself in his mind. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

With a start, Hermione’s features blew wide and she dropped the soft touch at his elbow. “Why on earth not?”

The truth, at least the part of it he could tell her, would hurt her feelings but if he didn’t answer the question in the next millisecond, the whole bit of it would push out—he could feel the words begging to be spoken. “I don’t want to spend the evening with you; I’d rather be with Colette.” 

A grimace formed over his features, because truth be told, yes, he’d rather be Colette. But not for any reason other than that she was a much safer option. But that didn’t help the regret twisting in his stomach as she huffed, hurt evident in the pull of her brows as she took a step away from him. 

“Well,” she gulped, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was Ronald, but I have to say I’m a bit taken aback by  _ you. _ Have fun with… _ Colette _ .” 

As she turned, Harry had a moment of panic, his arm darting out and gripping her wrist, dragging her back until their chests were bumping. 

This close he could make out the golden constellations in her toffee-colored eyes and the way she always smelled like cinnamon no matter the season. A confession played at the forefront of his mind as his tongue darted out, wetting his lips, his gaze dragging over her lovely features. 

Hermione Granger was quite simply the only girl he’d truly pined for after all these years. There’d been other passing fancies, witches who he’d tried to convince himself could still be right for him. None of them came close. But there’d never really been a time that he felt that confessing these ridiculous feelings to her would be appropriate.

Too much history. A friendship that ran too deep. He’d seen first hand what it’d done to her and Ron; their entire universe had been upturned when their relationship had fallen to the wayside. There were no guarantees where matters of the heart were concerned, not even when dealing with Hermione Granger. 

She stared back up at him with that unfathomable expression she had sometimes when he made a fool of himself or got too excited about Quidditch and her fingers rested softly on his hips. He sucked in a breath—this was it. 

“Hermione, I—”

“Granger!” Cormac’s giant frame loomed over them, drawing Harry from the moment even if Hermione never took her gaze from Harry. “There you are. You missed it,” Cormac continued, seemingly unaware of the intimate embrace of the two friends as he pointed towards the back of the shop. “Lovegood’s back there reading palms and some dumb bint didn’t like her answer and flipped the whole damned table.” 

Cormac’s head fell back and loud, obnoxious guffaws filled the air as his hand came down to rest on Hermione’s back. “I want her to read mine; want to come?”

Harry’s gaze floated back to Hermione, her brows drawn tight and her lips pursed as she stared up at him. “Harry?”

The truth prevailed. “You should go. Have fun, guys.” 

“‘ _ Allo!  _ Does ’nyone remember me?” Colette appeared then, stomping her heel into the tile and huffing an indignant little breath. Harry didn’t miss the way Cormac’s eyes bulged at the woman’s ample cleavage. “‘Arry! You were promised to me for ze evening, no?”

Removing his glasses so he might rub at the bridge of his nose, Harry let out an exhausted sigh. “Sure, Colette. Whatever you want.” 

Hermione’s fingers fell from his waist as Cormac guided her into the crowd and far from the truth threatening to spill past Harry's lip. 

“‘Now, where were we, Monsieur Potter?  _ Oui, _ ” she purred, her gaze darkening as her long lashes fluttered closed and kissed her cheeks. “I know what ze famous ‘Arry Potter wants.” 

Desperate to keep his distance, Harry’s hands rose to push her away but Colette was nothing if not persistent. She crushed her body against his until his palms were pressed against her breasts and her lips were moving against his. His eyes flew open, rounding, wide and terrified as she nipped at his bottom lip. And his gaze settled on the girl of his dreams, who’d just so happened to turn over her shoulder for a final glance back at him.

The shocked—and almost dejected—face of Hermione Granger slowly came into view over his date’s shoulder and Harry quickly disentangled himself from Colette’s aggressive entrapments. 

“Shall we leave?” Colette leaned in until her lips were brushing against the shell of his ear. “I ‘ave a room in London.” 

“ _ Absolutely not,”  _ Harry deadpanned, extricating himself masterfully from her tentacles. “Let’s just…walk around or something.  _ No more kissing _ ! Don’t do that.”

“_Plus d'embrasser?_” Her brows furrowed, her lips pulling into a plump pout. “Que voulez-vous dire?”

Harry pulled a face, waving his hand through the air and dismissing her. “Yeah, I don’t speak French. Just no more kissing; I  _ don’t _ want to kiss you. Yeah? Oui?” That was the truth, and Harry didn’t even fight it as it slipped out. 

They made their way through the party, Colette’s arm woven through his, acting like they were actually there together as dozens of Ministry colleagues stopped to shake his arm and blow smoke up his arse. They ran across Ron, who proven unhelpful as a distraction since he was shoveling chips down his throat and swaying drunkenly to a song he’d never heard before. 

He made eyes at Hermione several times, each time averting his gaze so quickly that he didn’t have time to register what the emotion was that was dancing across her features. The twins were in a right state, sipping their fizzing purple cocktails on their stairwell and looking over their event with unbridled glee; another year, another wonderful success. 

For that reason, and at least a half a dozen more, Harry nearly groaned in relief when his eyes landed on the long, familiar blonde tresses of Luna Lovegood. He nearly dove into the seat across from her, abandoning his ‘date’ and burying his face in his palms. 

“Hello, Harry!” Luna’s distant hazy voice reached his ears and he peeked up at her with wide, anxiety-filled eyes. 

“Merlin, Morgana and all four Founders— You’ve no idea how happy I am to see you, Luna.” Harry groaned, running an agitated hand through his hair as he scowled over his shoulder. He blinked upwards, realizing they were under a canopy the shade of midnight and purple silk covered the table, bespeckled with golden stars. To his left was a stack of worn cards, longer than ones meant for games and a few small crystals. 

Curiosity piqued and with a knitted brow he lifted the top one, eyeing a moving drawing of a young man holding a walking stick with a blindfold secured over his eyes.  **THE FOOL** was written proudly at the top and Harry watched in horror as the man in the image jaunted merrily to the edge of a cliff and promptly walked off the ledge. Harry snorted, placing it back where he’d found it.  _ The fool _ . As if that wasn’t bloody perfect.

“Is something wrong, Harry? You seem a little stressed.” Luna leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table as her small face canted to one side. “Your wrackspurts are having an absolute field day—I can give you something for that, you know.” 

“Is something wrong?” Harry balked, his voice rising to an unnatural octave. “Is something—hah! Where to begin… Ah! Yes. The twins have dosed me with a potion meant to force the truth out of me and now I’m trapped here because this one—” Harry paused, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the black-haired beauty in the skimpy dress a few paces back. “Purchased me like a fucking pygmy puff and I can’t very well  _ leave _ because then I hate orphans and don’t want them to have the four hundred and fifty-seven galleons promised to them. But I can’t very well  _ stay _ because if I do, then I’m bloody well going to blurt out how I  _ really _ feel about my best friend and the fact I’ve been bloody in love with her for a decade!” 

Luna’s gaze flickered. “Surely, not Ron?” She asked in a low voice and Harry barked out a disbelieving laugh. 

“No, Luna, not Ron. Hermione. Hermione bleeding Granger is the girl I’ve decided to lose my bloody mind over. I keep thinking it’s going to get better, but it doesn’t. Every day…every year that passes I just fall for her more and I’m reduced to watching her from the wings as these idiots like six-foot-four Mclaggen come in and use her heart like a tea towel. But I can’t  _ say _ any of that, now can I?”

Luna’s lips parted, ready to retort, but Harry couldn’t give her a moment. 

“If I did, then what?” He gesticulated wildly, hands flying all about as the worst scenario possible played like a movie before him. “We date a few months? She dumps me,  _ obviously _ , because she can do better. Then everything goes to shite; because it’s me and with me, everything always goes to shite—”

“Harry,” Luna interrupted quietly, but he was still on his verbal rampage, words tumbling out one after another, unable to stop them even if he wanted thanks to the compulsion of the twins and their little bloody potion. 

“The other alternative is what? We live happily ever after?” Harry snorted, sitting back in his chair with an angry scowl. “Because Harry Potter and happy endings have  _ ever _ been a bloody thing. No, it’s ridiculous. Who cares if I love her? I’ve survived worse than watching the girl I’m mad about dance through life with these fucking sods.” Harry waved a hand at Cormac, standing there with a gaping jaw and then, as realization crashed over him, he froze. The silence that followed his harried and rushed confession was met by several long blinks from across the table. 

Cormac was there, which meant it could be logically deduced that…

Harry turned just barely over his shoulder, catching sight of Hermione Granger, dressed as a fucking bowtruckle with a gaping jaw. Clenching his eyes shut, Harry turned back towards Luna, his nostrils flaring and his teeth ground tightly together. 

“Luna,” he breathed, reeling in his misguided rage. “Could you not have mentioned we had an audience?”

“Well,” Luna said from the corner of her mouth, her cheeks tinting a light shade of pink. “I  _ did _ try, Harry. But you were quite on a mission to speak it all; there was simply no stopping you.”

“Brilliant,” he growled, slamming a palm on the table and causing Luna to jump in her seat. “I’m sorry, Luna. It’s not your fault… I’ve—I’ve just got to go is all. I’m sorry.” 

Harry rushed to his feet, turning the opposite way of Hermione and her date and darting through the crowd, ignoring the French profanities being shouted as his back. 

“Harry!” Distantly he registered the sound of Hermione’s voice calling to him, but he couldn’t stop. The truth was still demanding to be spoken and he couldn’t look at her and say it all again. “Harry James Potter, stop this instant!” 

Pushing through the final throngs of people, he shoved through the door. The cool autumn air rushed into his lungs and Harry nearly doubled over at the welcome shock of it. 

“ _ Harry _ !” 

Righting himself, Harry sucked in greedy breaths as Hermione rounded on him, ripping the twigs on from her curls. “Not right now, Hermione. It’s been a hell of a night—”

“What what all that? All that stuff you said!” Her fingers found his jumper, yanking on the fabric to grab his attention but he pulled away from her. 

“I need to go.” 

“Don’t you dare! We have to talk about this!” Hermione’s voice cracked, her grip again finding purchase in his clothing. 

“I’m not talking about this with you right now, Hermione. I’ve been dosed bloody truth serum!” 

“We need to talk about this! You can’t just—” Her breath hitched, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You can’t just say something like that and then leave, Harry. This is us; it’s you and me. You can’t just  _ run.”  _

Merlin, did he have to go and fall for such a tenacious witch? He sighed, pushing past her with a sad pull to his features. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Harry.” Her hands fell limp at her sides, brows inching up toward her hairline. “Are you in love with me?”

There it was. The question he’d avoided answering for the better part of a decade; his shoulders slumped, chin tucking into his chest. “Yes,” he said with a long breath. “But, you don’t have to worry about this. I’ll just do as I’ve always done—”

With an exasperated huff and a quick flail of her hands, Hermione interrupted him. “Why on earth would you do that? Can’t you see that I…well, it’s just that I happen to fancy you as well.” 

The world ceased to turn, he was sure of it. Or maybe it had picked up its pace… whatever it was, it made him feel queasy and lightheaded as he struggled to comprehend the simple words she was saying. 

“Fancy me?” His vision darkened and he took an emboldened step towards her. “Like how?”

Hermione snorted, stabbing her fists into her hips and turning her foot out in that very Hermione-like way of hers. “In the way that girls often fancy boys. Am I not speaking plainly?”

A gust of wind spun around them and he took an involuntary step towards her just as she did the same. “You fancy me.” The words tasted like milk chocolate on his tongue and he wanted to speak them again and again and again. 

“Yes, is that quite so unbelievable?” 

Harry barked out a laugh, running his fingers through his unruly hair. “Yes, Hermione. It’s quite unbelievable. Why didn’t you say something?”

Fixing him with a pointed stare, Hermione poked him in the ribs and huffed. “Why didn’t  _ you  _ say something? After all this time and I find out like this? I didn’t think you were interested in me, you always—”

He swallowed whatever words she had been about to speak, crushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was ten years overdue. There was a moment of panic when her hands hung at her sides while he skimmed the curve of her spine before cradling her face in his palm. But then, as if answering his silent prayer, her hands moved to rest on his hips, pulling him closer as his tongue darted out to taste her. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he could kiss Hermione Granger for hours on end. When the kiss broke and he let out a horribly unattractive whimpering noise, she giggled and brushed her nose against his. 

“Should I go and tell Cormac that our date has ended?” Hermione breathed, her chest brushing against his and doing the most delightful things to his blood pressure. 

“Yes, or I can, because I’d really love to see that poncy sod get rejected again.” Harry chuckled to himself and fixed his glasses on his nose, his eyes catching on the giant window of the shop over Hermione’s shoulder. 

Bathed in hideous fluorescent lighting was none other than Mclaggen, caging Colette in his arms as his head dipped to her ear and her fingers trailed along his arm. 

“Or looks like they’ve solved that issue for us. Brilliant!” Harry grinned and took his witch in his arms, savoring the happy smile that was this time just for him. “It’s Devils Night, you know—” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows. “A night for mischief.” 

“It’s Halloween now.” Hermione twined her fingers behind his head and jerked her chin in the clock. Twelve minutes after midnight on what was normally the worst day of his year; and although most people would  _ not _ classify Harry Potter as a lucky wizard, it seemed that might finally be changing. 

“So it is,” he mused, his gaze floating back down to hers. “Now, where were we?”

Her bright laughter filled the air as his lips ducked down to capture hers once more. And as their lips learned to move together, somewhere in the back of his mind he made a note that he needed to thank the Weasley twins for their ridiculous party and their meddling truth serum. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!


End file.
